Travels With Miranda

I’ve had problems with anemia since the late ’90s, so I take a daily iron supplement. Every few months, I walk into a pharmacy (usually the one at Walmart) and ask for a bottle of ferrous gluconate. Said bottle is handed over each time with few other words. I’m asking for the pills by a specific identifier, not as generic ‘iron supplements’, so pharmacists assume that I know what I’m doing. I’ve thus bought my pills in Quebec, Ontario, BC, the Yukon, and even Oregon without incident for about 12 years.

And then I came to Alberta.

Tonight, I went to the Shopper’s Drugmart (I just love that name, incidentally, it makes me laugh) and nonchalantly ambled over to the prescriptions area where, after a moment’s wait, I was able to place my order.

“Have you filled a prescription here before?”
“No. I don’t have a prescription…”
“Oh, that’s fine. I just need to register the sale. Name and address, please.”

I gave the information, using Rae rather than my legal name, and Jody’s address, none of which matches any of my ID. That was fine because I wasn’t asked for any! I mustn’t have looked like a drug dealer to this person!

At least, the pills are super cheap in Alberta, $6.50 for 100 tablets! I haven’t paid a price like that since the 20th century!

I’m in the process of switching to Alberta residency and I’m just about done with this whole full-timing in Canada thing. It’s probably easier to request, and get, refugee status in the States than it is to move from one province to another.

I’m no longer comfortable spilling all the details of how I handle the legal red tape in this country. I am tired of all the lies and half-truths I have to tell to be able to drive and have some semblance of health coverage, and I grow increasingly concerned by the abundance of information that I voluntarily give up that could be used against me.

There was a time not so many months ago that I thought I was strong enough to be the full-timing martyr in this country; that I could live openly, proclaim from the rooftops that I screw the rules and do things my own way, consequences be damned, but that isn’t me anymore. The stress is gnawing at me and my resentment of my government grows exponentially with every hoop I have to jump through. I am exhausted. I bet if I were to grow out my hair it’d be grey!

I won’t let the government win. I’m not giving up on this lifestyle that I love so much, but I am going to go into hiding, so to speak, for a while, and say a lot less on the blog for the time being about the infrastructure aspects of my life.

Tioga George had some day surgery today. Glad all went well, George!

When he was well enough to be released, he was wheeled out to his RV sitting at the back of the hospital parking lot. What luxury!

I had major surgery in July of 2007. I didn’t feel too badly upon awakening, but the drive home over terrible Gatineau roads, and the drive back to the hospital the next day for a dressing change, was torture. There would have been a lot less pain, and possibly a quicker convalescence, if I could have gone home to my RV parked in the hospital parking lot instead of being subjected to those two car rides. I remember my surgeon’s shocked expression at seeing me in a wheelchair the next day. I was worn out from trying not scream on the half hour ride to see her!

I don’t know if US hospital parking lot rates are as bad as those in Canada, but I think that any price would be worth getting permission to spend at least a couple of days in the lot in an RV after undergoing surgery to avoid the agonizing ride home.